


engine 94

by toro (sapoeysap)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Abstract, Lighthearted, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29200626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapoeysap/pseuds/toro
Summary: an extract in a guide to moving on.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6
Collections: F1 Soup Kitchen Chocolate Box 2021





	1. step

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secondlifetime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondlifetime/gifts).



> soup kitchen, love is stored in the chocolate box challenge and the associated stress.
> 
> s-l, i will admit i found the lack of pairing in the challenge tricky.  
> part one, is undoutably just words and doesn't need much.  
> part two, i ran with daniil, charles got thrown in because it just made sense. i went more cracky than intended but i hope its. fun.
> 
> anyways love is a funny thing and i think actually its in the dedication of words to a chat that makes you feel warm inside

“I miss the office, I missed it since a week after we got into the mess, honestly. But just because you miss something doesn’t mean you have to go back to it.” 

It's in the abstract, words said in passing. An interruption to the static of his own thoughts, breaking through the itching of white noise.  
Daniil knows they are words not meant to resonate within him, yet here they are. Echoing. Rattling around his brain in every situation.   
Radio that plays on in the boxing studio. Ignored usually. Save for this one sentence. The square is a sacred place to him. Four by four of no interruptions.  
Throws a sequence of punches, left, right.   
Shadowboxing memories as much as a routine.   
There’s clarity here. Nothing but banter in between spars.   
Concentration felt in different places. He misses this. This ache. In muscles as much as mentally.   
Daniil goes home sweaty and worn. 

“I miss the office”

A feeling that never shakes. This longing.   
Maybe what scares him the most is it’s a longing for things that shouldn’t be the things he’s yearning for.   
The minuscule details of a life lived.   
Of a life that’s relegated to the past.  
In the memories of the sound of a garage, the way it all goes silent just for a moment as he pushes the helmet on. A second of static in a radio check. Followed by peeling of sweaty layers after what feels might be hours of talks with the press. What happens in the middle isn’t the memory that’s pressing into his skin.  
It’s the in-betweens.  
Pushing deep down. Sinking into his brain like a fuel line.   
Sure, the high of the speed is unreplicatable. But there are still cars in the world.   
A feeling he can chase wherever. But he’ll never get back those moments from one to another.   
Daniil thinks maybe he should have paid more attention to it. Lived more in the moment when he was there, instead of regretting this now.  
Maybe its age sinking into him. an old man, too much like his dad, happy to drive around for hours. goals nonexistent, a destination unknown even to him.   
There's a ghost of a feeling, a palm warm on his thigh. Both his hands are firm on the wheel.  
He shakes the memory off.  
Until it isn’t a memory.   
The hand grips tighter. Presses deeper through the denim. Tender. Loving. Different.   
Smile shared over the gear stick.  
Moves on from the memories.   
Settles with not looking backwards.

  
“doesn’t mean you should go back to it”

  
an expanse of flesh. soft under his hands, soft under the sheets.  
love shouldn’t feel this way. or at least it hasn’t. not before. in spite of things shared. it’s not been. this raw.  
watches his own hand trace up, follow the plains of muscles and curves of stomach.   
there is no love here. not in the physical of bodies bare.   
not even when he dips his hand lower. exposes in moans and gasps.   
that’s something else.   
attraction or infatuation or just foolishness.   
wry smiles and cut of moans.   
it's in the aftermath.   
when there are no other thoughts, but the ‘i love you’.  
daniil can barely let the words past his lips.   
scared of what they mean.   
they slip by anyways.  
unguarded.   
near silent.  
a smile,   
finally gives up an ‘i love you too’ in return.   
  



	2. outside

There’s a constant ache when they are apart. he pretends to not feel it. there shouldn’t be this want. they make no sense as friends let alone, whatever this has built up too. this desire is pointless. there drivers, in the limelight of the media, their peers, there own selves.

Monaco set and the ones spread out further. trickles of lines stitched red onto a map, pinpointed locations. Charles's fingers itch to trace along the lines of his life. how it all led here, curled up in sheets that are rolled down and messed up. Two PlayStation controllers discarded after one too many failures in-game.

He’s leant on his arm too long it feels numb, that if he gets up now it will be limp for a little while, only pins and needles remaining. so he stays, sharing heat and there arms touching skin on skin.

Charles doesn’t know how to explain to any version of his past self that he’s frustrated he hasn’t kissed Daniil Kvyat yet. or how that Daniil Kvyat is in his bed, half asleep because he’s in his own words, ‘shit at COD’.

All this contact that they’ve been in. all the little things between them, tiny touches that have evolved into something that burns warm inside him. love, or something close maybe.

Charles feels that if Daniil doesn’t give him something _more_ soon, he’ll lose all focus. of himself. of the world around him. or just simply self implode from the lack of acknowledgement.

Charles doesn't know how it’s all boiled down to this.

Rolling over and further into the warmth that Daniil gives off.

and Daniil gives back, affection but only sort off, Charles almost feels like Daniil is almost catlike. begging for strips of attention when wanted then stalking away. as if on cue for this thought, Daniil wraps a hand around Charles’ arm.

The snores follow quickly after.

They go about this, a winter break that feels never-ending. Charles balancing Ferrari commitments with the mystery of Daniil's path that seems endlessly open.

Moments constantly shared.

Charles thinks maybe his favourite moments, is when they sit next to each other the piano bench. not enough room for two people to sit on the bench. Charles wants to fold in on himself as his fingers hit the keys. Daniil says nothing though, save for a laugh when Charles’ fingers finally stop their dance across the keys.

‘i’ll stick to the guitar’

Daniil, let’s Charles teach him simple things anyways. of course, Daniil's good at it, but Charles knows the way that Daniil's fingers itch for a guitar instead.

This happens multiple times, over and over until Daniil's offering to bring his guitar over and they sit riffing off one another. a steady beat of nothing but messing around until things stop sounding off-key into something slightly more. melodic.

Charles will sit on the piano bench alone, in late hours distracted from everything and wonder when the move will be made. who will make it first, he or Daniil? if the way their hands grazed over controllers, over the piano, over cutlery at the table.

Wonders if they are something outside of hotel beds and apartment walls.

Every time Daniil isn’t there, or his name slips down a few on Charles’ phone, Charles wonders if he’s off with prettier people. something more than he can offer. probably just in the boxing gym, yet still Charles is jealous of the idea that Daniil is anywhere but here with him.

He’s an idiot really. looks in the mirror and wonders who he’s trying to be. who he’s trying to impress.

He knows the answer but doesn’t want to face up to it. not really.

It exists better in the abstract. something that he can’t quite put aside even as it consumes him and his own personality.

Charles and Daniil does not sound quite right. at the same time, it does.

It’s on neutral territory when it all goes down.

The tiniest touch to the breaks and Charles world comes apart.

Breaking a front wing on Monaco barriers doesn’t compare to what this conversation feels like in his body. A push of G force and the flips his stomach does are so mixed in as an emotion.

Sat on the harbour steps. light jackets and weak January sun behind them.

All Charles can hear over the static of want that comes in the litanies of ‘i love you’ that consume his brain is.

‘I met this girl, i think you would really like her’

Daniil’s eyebrows go up, a smirk appears.

‘and?’

for a one-word reply, Charles thinks it comes out very tired and off-putting.

‘i thought you might like to see someone new?, she’s very up your street’

Charles is gobsmacked to say the slightest. pissed off is the next emotion.

‘and what about us?’, the echo of the way his voice pitches up rings in his ears.

‘us?’, Daniil echos, deep voice and confusion.

Charles stands up. onto the ledge of the concrete wall. hopes no one is around to see whatever meltdown ensues. Daniil looks slightly worried, a smile that suggests he might think Charles is about to either jump off into the harbour or slap him in the face.

Charles isn’t sure which one he will do. or take a third route. he can almost feel the way his voice speeds up.

‘yes us? the call of duty? the music?, we held hands Daniil?’

Daniil’s face is blank. no hint of a toothy smile that Charles has come to love.

It’s an impressive show of restraint truly that he doesn’t slap Daniil into the harbour.

Instead. Daniil gets the cold shoulder.

Charles hopes he sways his hips hard enough that Daniil knows he’s fucked up, what he's missing out on as Charles retreats.

They'll have no reason to see each other anyways. Daniil can disappear, without a seat or anything behind him.

And Charles, well frankly Charles doesn't care.

* * *

It’s like a horrible break up from a breakup that isn’t even real.

Something that apparently was happening entirely in Charles mind, and Charles mind only.

Pierre comes over, ever the dutiful best friend. Clueless as to why Charles has sent out their universal code of 'please come over for games' which is actually, 'please bring chocolate i am wounded by love'

He's holding out a box of chocolate and a box of cheap tissues with terrible print on them. Sloths repeated over and over, smiling faces grinning up at Charles.

Pierre is a good relationship back up, because he says nothing, asks no questions. Just boots up Fifa and when they get bored, changes over to F1 and they race on controllers around Monaco. Breaking off like their cars just to giggle at the stupidy of it all.

And when Pierre stays over that night, cooking dinner and making them drink wine that Charles would not normally be caught dead drinking. He snuggles up into Charles, too muscly and broad to be mistaken for Daniil.

It doesn't stop the ache. But it's a damn good plaster. Slapped on firm, and when the edges peel Charles will be ready to rip it off.

After all, he and Daniil were nothing but a scratch really.

**Author's Note:**

> just had the thought of daniil working through memories just to lead to moving on. the person in the bed unspecified.  
> the quote is from a juno steel episode but just stuck with me as the way to work through this. i was a bit apprehensive to have this as so abstract, but upon re-reading your work felt that that was something you do anyways.
> 
> happy valentines day ❤️
> 
> (title is nonsense, the two chapters are step outside by screaming females "I'm sick with worry everytime you step outside you won't be safe now")


End file.
